


Without A Doubt

by darjeeling



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:36:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5840116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darjeeling/pseuds/darjeeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The universe is falling apart and there's lasers and betrayal and nothing is going quite the way it should. This is a surprise for none of the parties involved.</p><p>The saying "thick as thieves" makes one big assumption that makes an ass out of everyone - that two criminals would get along with each other. Now, if we take this assumption away, we get two groups of people who hate each other beyond all measure for very little reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without A Doubt

The broiling hot prickling of the thousand suns on already burnt skin, the feeling of his heart jumping to his throat and eyes filling with tears at the sight of all these people he'd barely hoped survived this all, the delighted screech from his sister somewhere behind him - they were all things he was so, so very sure he'd felt.

But here was Dipper Pines, aged twelve-point-almost thirteen, sitting at the kitchen table and watching in lightheaded awe as the last terrifying officer apologized, almost meekly, to his grunkle.

The old man was certainly milking it, tsk'ing away at the FBI officer even as the man strode confidently out the door. But Dipper saw it, and he knew for a fact that Mabel saw it - the sheen of sweat on his wrinkled forehead as he slumped against the fridge. With a rather unbecoming cough, Stan flung open the door and grabbed the milk jug, downing half of it in one go. He said something, grinning at the twins despite the fact that half the milk had gone down the front of his shirt.

Dipper didn't hear it.

Tapping his fingers on the table and barely resisting the urge to bite the end of his fork (not nearly as malleable as a pen, of course), his mind was a rush of things - impossible and possible, happening and not, flashes of vivid colours and the scream of the wind on the plains that were Gravity Falls.

But instead of a vivid red sky and whipping gales, there was just a sort of ominous hush over the greenery outside - the smell of sap and musty air, homey and comfortable, instead of sulphur.

Swallowing thickly, Dipper turned to his twin for something, anything. A sign that she knew that things were just as... WEIRD as he remembered.

"Hey! Where's Grunkle Ford!"

Their bewildered caretaker could do nothing but spit a fine mist of milk into the air as he choked. Perhaps she shouldn't have dropped such a bomb mid-drink, but judging by her steely (?) gaze locked onto Stan, Mabel knew just as well as Dipper that shit was fucked.

"Well, uh, he's right here! Kids!" Stan blurted, slamming the fridge door shut and trying to juggle the carton with the same hand. It ended rather badly, and he muttered under his breath uncomfortably as he tugged his already stained shirt away from his chest. "Hahah, would you look at that, your uh, old grunkle showing his age - got the shakes or something, right? Hahaha, ohhhhh man."

Dipper slid out of his chair, letting out a little oomph as he bounced to the ground (damn his tiny little legs), and pointed as dramatically as he could. "Grunkle Stan, we know you know we know that, uh," the kid stuttered, looking uncomfortably at Mabel. She shrugged back at him.

Sighing, Stan plucked a tea towel from a cupboard, half-heartedly cleaning up the spill he'd created. "Listen, Dipper, Mabel, I know today's been a really... stressful time, but you gotta' know. Everything I do, it's for a good reason, right? So just, you know, trust me. It's-"

A flash, the sight of the green glowing nightvision tape. Grunkle, no Grunkle, barrels and muffled swears - then again, muffled swears, as he stumbled in with empty hands and a desperate look in his eyes as he removed his helmet. Another burst of neon green and...

Mabel was stomping out of the room.

Watching, still dizzied, Dipper steadied himself for a moment, before looking at Stan - who was pointing to the door. "You too, brat! Both a' ya! Out! Now!"

Oh, that totally explained everything. "Grunkle Stan, you can't just keep us out of everything you're-"

"Your SISTER already went through this," the man grunted, shaking his head. The same desperate look and fine sweat, plus a wobbly tone that Dipper wasn't sure was leading to tears or screaming. Either way, there was more important things to do than ruin the rest of the family dynamic they'd spent the entire summer working on.

Even so, he couldn't help but shut the door a little too hard on the way up to their room.

Mabel was already face down on the bed yelling into one of her plushies. There was really nothing worse than seeing her like this, especially after having told her that he was going to spend-...spend what? Either way, Dipper shook his head, focus, and sat cross-legged between beds.

The sheets were the same, the varied fungi on the walls were the same, even the shed clothes he'd forgotten to put in the laundry basket were the same. Even so, the air felt almost... electric. Though it might have also been from the way Mabel's pitch was reaching about the point where glass breaks.

Clearing his throat, Dipper leaned forward. "Mabel, you feel it too, right? This, uh, we've already-"

Flopping onto her back in one fluid, ragdoll motion, Mabel pouted at him over the plush she hugged to her chest. "Where it's like WHOOSH, with all the green, and then you remember the stuff that didn't happen yet?"

"I wouldn't have described it like that, but-"

"You described it as 'this, uh, we've already' soooo, like," Mabel pointed out, sticking her tongue out good-naturedly at her twin.

Even so, he wasn't in the mood for it. "C'mon, there's some... some really serious stuff happening right now! Like where's Ford, what's HAPPENING, why is-"

"Ford?"

Dipper paused, returning her own puppy-like head tilt with his own narrowed eyes. Hadn't she asked, just downstairs...? "...yeah, Grunkle Ford, you know, Stan's twin brother? The guy who wrote the books?"

"Ah! Right!" Mabel nodded eagerly, clapping her hands together. "We can ask him!"

"No, we can't, he's-"

"Downstairs, yeah, but you've already hung around with him tons 'n tons, it's not like we can't just go down there-"

"It was mostly accidents! I guess you're right, though, going downstairs... we'll have to sneak past Grunkle Stan, but it's not like we haven't done THAT before, either."

She peered at him, biting her lip.

Dipper stared back, before looking over his shoulder, then back to her. "What, what's wrong?"

"Dipper," she said carefully, as though giving very bad news to someone who didn't quite understand it. "Grunkle Ford isn't down there. Grunkle STAN didn't complete the portal thingy."

The blush came almost immediately, and Dipper's embarrassed squeak as he tried to start a sentence made it even worse. "I, I knew that. Listen, let's just read through the book a bit and see if we can find... something about, uh, memories."

Mabel nodded eagerly, settling back in to the corner of her bed to amuse herself - after all, one book, one person. She snuck glances out of the corner of her eye at her brother as he, too, slid into his own bed and began shuffling through pages - poor guy was all mixed up with all this stress.

 

 

\--

 

Universe jumping always made Morty nauseated. It usually went away almost instantly, though the first few times he'd done it had come with a vomit or two, but by this point it was small beans. He assumed it probably had something to do with heights or whatever, elevation and blood sugar. Either that or the universe trying to write him out of existence - Rick had probably told him at some point, but the guy wasn't exactly the clearest about scientific universal stuff. Sometimes Morty wondered if he knew exactly what he was doing.

As such, when Morty followed him into this particular portal, it was a little overwhelming to step in and immediately swoon and smash his head off a stump.

Even as his grandfather pulled him back to his feet, Morty pondered just how Rick didn't manage to flat out pass out - that was a little much for him and he was sober. As he opened his mouth to inquire, he was immediately shushed.

"C-come on Morty, I already told you this is an important, sabotage, espionage, whatever, mission. You gotta' keep, gotta' keep the questions to a minimum, as impossible as that might, brRR-up, be for you."

Huffing quietly, he did as he asked - might as well be patient, considering how much of a jump this place was from their usual portal destinations.

A forest, peaceful as could be - air filled with dust lit up by the quickly fading evening sunlight like a scattering of gold. The trees around them seemed almost impossibly huge, intimidatingly so, and for a brief moment Morty felt really, truly calm-

That was, until a rustbucket of a vehicle went speeding by and almost hit them both. Rick didn't even make a noise as he tackled his diminutive grandson back to the ground. As the smell of gasoline wafted over him and the car puttered into the distance, Morty's eyes widened.

Ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that was screaming CONCUSSIONCONCUSSIONCONCUSSION, Morty pushed himself up and glared at Rick, who was already back on his feet and heading off to where the car had come from. "You-you, is this the stuff from the, the guy that, is this the place we went that last week when-"

"Don't burst a blood vessel thinking about it too, too hard, yeah, this is the place where we stole all those big barrels that were sooooo heavy," Rick burped over his shoulder, not slowing down in the least as Morty scrambled to catch up to his rather impressive powerwalk.

Dusting himself off, Morty frowned over his shoulder at the car. "That guy almost, almost killed us when he saw that we were trying to steal the... the same things as we were," he squeaked, shaking his head. As many things had tried to kill them both in the past, at least the recent things still stayed in his memory - even more prominently when they were actively almost running him over.

"What are you, mister exposition today? Yeah, he did. Which is why we're breaking into his house while he's gone out."

"Breaking into his-RICK!"

"No, his home - haha, get it, Morty? 'Cause you said-" Rick wheezed at his own joke, before having to stop and lean against a tree for a minute as he choked on his own spit. "Hooo, boy, that was a good one, huh Morty? Bet you're just raring to break into this guy's place, yeah? Ruin some shit?"

Sweating bullets was always an understatement when it came to the scientist's sidekick, and now was no different. Morty grimaced. "No, Rick, I'm not RARING to go! And do you know why, Rick?"

"I don't really care, but I have the feeling you're going to tell me anyway."

"Because I'm not the type of person who thinks, yes, let's destroy a man's, a man's hopes and dreams, and then continue to ruin his life by breaking into his HOME despite the fact that he ALREADY almost shot our ship down once!" Morty squealed - and flinched at his own voice. Man, the headache was really not going away - despite the fact that it was so late, it seemed almost just as bright as before. Concussion...? Really hoped not.

"Keep the VOLUME down, Morty, espionage really -bRRRRrrrup- isn't your strong-strong suit, huh? Listen, Morty," Rick sighed, jumping over a particularly big log that his grandson tripped over behind him. Rolling his eyes, he continued on towards the shabby building in the distance on the road. "Morty, that's because you're not the thinker here - or the doer, really, more the whiny little extra pair of hands pussy, but more importantly, what kind of person steals government barrels of mysterious glowing fluid?"

Morty frowned, doing his best to lower his voice. "You."

Nodding, Rick slowed down and hunkered down slightly beside a particularly large tree as he peered at the building ahead of them. "Yeah, me, and sketchy assholes that live in du, dumps, uh, dumps like this. You really think this jackass was intending good, good things with all that?"

"I," Morty started, then hesitated as he peered at the place. The Mystery Hack...? "I guess not. Kind of looks like the kind of place you'd see on those 'busting the drug dealer' shows, huh Rick?"

"Yeah it does, Morty. That it does." Rick nodded, almost proudly, and for a moment Morty was almost excited for their mission ahead - before a small, silver, futuristic-looking gun was tossed into his sweaty palms. "Now keep your head down and shoot anything that comes near us. No telling what sort of freaky ssshhhit lives in a place like-brrr-like this, Morty, keep your head low and your mouth SHUT, now let's GO, GO, GO!"

No time to ask what they were getting, no time to ask anything, Morty followed as best as he could as his considerably taller uncle legged it to the door.

 

 

\--

 

 

If being grounded at home was terrible, being grounded at the Mystery Shack was catastrophic. Especially with Dipper being so busy muttering at his book and scribbling away on a notepad over there, Mabel had nothing to do but softly play the drums on Waddles' belly. At least she could pretend Dipper was rapping along to the sick beats she was laying down.

The sound of the front door slamming jerked her from her intense revere, but though she looked over to Dipper her twin continued to mutter to himself.

"Hey, hey Dipper, did you hear that? I think Grunkle Stan just went out, and-"

"I'm busy, okay?"

Oh. That was weird. Mabel frowned, leaned closer, tried to push down the little voice in the back of her head that was screaming "he's going to stay in Gravity Falls and you're going to be alone", and cleared her throat. "Dipper...?"

No response.

"Okay, well, I'm going to go check out where Grunkle Stan went. If you wanna' come with...?" she trailed off hopefully. He only shook his head softly. At least it was a response, she decided optimistically as she slid off of her bed. Quite a feat with a pig hugged tightly to her chest. She paused in the doorway, looking into Waddles' precious little eyes. "Sorry, little buddy - you hold down fort, 'kay? Pigs aren't the best at sneaking around. Defend Dipper!"

A wheezy little laugh echoed in their quiet room behind her, and Mabel nodded happily as she plopped the pig down and went unto her mission.

Sneaking around the shack was harder than sneaking around at home. The place was a mess of splinters and creaky floorboards - but if Pines were good at anything, it was doing things they shouldn't - and Mabel had had the whole summer to practice this particular board. 

Even so, there was something in the air that made it feel so much more different than usual. Mabel found herself hesitating more than dashing forward confidently as per the norm, and just that was enough to throw her off. Even so, as she swept up to the front door it was obvious that Stan had definitely evacuated the building - or at the very least wasn't hanging around.

The eerie post-sunset darkness hung over the place not like the usual comforting homeliness but more like a blanket of snow in summer - odd and unwelcome. At least the soft glow of the vending machine was familiar and - a neon green flash lit up her mind.

Mabel froze, staring at it. Filled with all sorts of goodies, and memories - how to get a couple more snacks than you needed, late nights of pulling a fiver from the register and right into some chips, putting in the correct combination in order to open up the path to the basement where oh man oh man oh man.

For a moment all pretence of sneaking was lost as Mabel pattered up to the machine and her hand shot to the number pad - but then nothing. Bouncing in place and puffing up her cheeks, the girl huffed. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!"

It just wasn't coming - the combination was entirely missing. But more importantly, why was she looking for this in the first place...? Mabel stared at the snacks inside, wondering just how hungry she'd been, before shrugging. More important business at hand and all that.

Tiptoing once again, she made her way back to the front door - and frowned. Why was his car missing...? It was pretty late at night, that was odd... Then again, with how much stuff he had (?) done without them knowing (???), it wasn't too much of a surprise to see him sneaking out in the middle of the night.

As she turned to go back upstairs with a sigh, a motion in the distant woods caught her eye. Mabel jumped to attention, peeking barely over the ridge of the window - and caught sight of a pair of figures running towards the door.

Letting out the softest gasp, Mabel rushed full speed to behind the counter, hunkering down and holding her breath as the doorknob clattering broke the silence like a bolt of lightning.

 

\---

 

"Nothing like a, a good old break-in, huh Morty?"

Crossing his arms with a laser gun in one hand was harder than he had assumed, so instead the teen just tapped his fingers on the side of the shiny weapon. "Thought you said we had to be quiet, Rick."

His grandfather glared over his shoulder at him, before rolling his eyes instead as Morty looked over his own shoulder at the same time - checking for the crazy old man, presumably. "Sure are a stickler for rules for someone who's, brrruuup, who's breaking into a tourist trap."

If he'd been a little bolder, Morty would have heckled further (or at least that's what he told himself), but as it was, he WAS hanging over the shoulder of his grandfather as he picked the lock.

Rick laughed under his breath, muttering a quiet "still got it" as he pocketed a tiny hairpin. Patting it as he turned the knob, the lanky man stretched peppily as he strolled right on in.

Following with considerably more hesitance, Morty peered around at the place - all sorts of creepy dead things and trashy merchandise laid around, each just as eerie and overpriced as the next. Turning his head and almost running into a horrible taxidermied mix between a rabbit and a badger, Morty let out a shrill little screech.

Rick stopped in place and turned around exclusively to give his grandson the most "could you not" look he could, before looking back to the vending machine in front of him.

Trying not to sneeze from the dust in the air (plus the smell of old people), Morty slinked up behind his grandfather hesitantly. "Rick, do we, do we really got t-time for, you know, snacks right now? We're kind of committing a major felony, n' stuff..."

"Morty, if there's anything I've learned in my luh, life, it's that there's always time for a good stale pile of garbage and rum. But that's not, what we're here for Morty, in fact..."

With the grin that he usually had when he was sure he was about to impress him, Rick punched a few numbers into the machine, before a gasp interrupted his actions.

Spinning around, Rick plucked a silvery weapon from his hip and aimed it at the new figure standing in the doorway in one fluid motion - and let out a sharp swear as the teen boy beside him let off a shot that sizzled harmlessly over the new arrival's shoulder.

"Jesus fucking CHRIST, Morty, keep your itchy trigger fingers down, there's kids here!"

Morty could do nothing but gesture in deep frustration at the gun that Rick had given him, then at the kid standing wide-eyed staring at them.

"Who the-who ARE you?! What are you doing in our Grunkle's shack?!" the kid blurted, looking just about ready to burst out of his dumb puffy vest in either terror or anger.

Lowering his gun carefully to the floor and gesturing for Morty to do the same, Rick grinned disarmingly (unnervingly) at the boy. "Sure is weird that you aren't, you know, at dinner with your, uh, grunkle?"

The boy just looked more confused. "Why would I-hey, answer me! Who are you!"

Rick seemed to quickly be losing confidence with his operation, and elbowed Morty sharply, ignoring the girly little noise he emitted in response. "Hey, look at this kid - younger than you but sure as hell got bigger balls. Hey, Pinetree, what's your-"

This seemed to be precisely the wrong thing to say, as without further discussion the boy let out a squawk and tossed a snowglobe directly at Rick's skull.

Despite the old man's usual skill with dodging, the unpredictable attack was apparently just enough to throw him off, as the globe landed right on point, and drew a rather creative string of curses from the old man.

"Augh, Rick, what do I do?!" Morty blurted, skittering behind a particularly large taxidermy monster for shelter as the kid lobbed something after him, too.

"Shoot him, Morty, you gotta' shoot him, you-"

"I'm not KILLING a KID, Rick, JESUS-"

"You were pretty eager about it earlier, plus-" Morty continued to blurt defences as the smaller kid chased him further around the place, weilding a golf club with a certain amount of skill that was somewhere between terrifying and impressive. "-Plus their stupid universe is falling apart and'll be duh-dead in a week anyway, shoot him, SHOOT HIM!"

The kid chasing Morty stopped, looking horrified, and for a moment Morty slowed. Looking over his shoulder at the guy, the teen panicked - and tossed the whole gun at the kid's head.

This did very little, of course, except give the other kid hiding behind the counter a chance to jump out and throw a handful of glitter into Morty's eyes.

Stings like the dickens, plus complete shimmery blindness equals a Morty screaming at the top of his shrill little lungs.

The new gremlin who tossed the glitter shook her mane of hair at the sound, putting her hands over her ears. "Geez, worse than you, Dipper!"

Jumping at his own name, the other one - Dipper, Morty presumed - let out an offended little noise. "Now's not the time! Make sure they don't escape!"

"How about, about making sure they DO escape, though," Rick coughed out, grabbing Morty's hand from somewhere in the shimmery darkness and pulling him full speed in some or other direction. 

Without any context of what direction they were going or why, it was the most Morty could do to keep his legs from dragging and run vaguely where he was directed. This seemed to be enough to aid their escape from two twelve year olds, as by the time Morty opened his eyes he was on his back on a forest floor, bugbitten and sweaty and chest heaving.

Rick stood above him, looking somewhere into the distance. Tugging a flask from his pocket, the old man chugged it loudly. Wiping away the excess with his sleeve and burping messily, Rick shook his head. "Muh-man, Morty. This universe is FUCKED. UP."

"So does, does that mean we can go home now, Rick...?"

"Absolutely."

"...!"

"Absolutely NOT! Got you, dawwwwwgggggg!"

 

\---

 

Sitting on the counter, Mabel watched boredly as Dipper paced around the silvery gun on the ground. At least now that they'd turned on the lights her eyes hurt a little less, but considering the fact that they'd been sitting there for so long and Dipper hadn't even touched the dang thing, she was quickly running out of patience. Long past the point of kicking her legs or tapping her fingers, Mabel had deigned to make annoying noises until Dipper DID something.

It really didn't seem to be doing anything, though.

In fact, Dipper looked even worse than he had earlier - almost at stressed-Stan levels of gross sweating and pen biting. The gnawing sound was probably louder than her own, and that was saying something.

"Why don't you, I dunno', touch it...?" she finally suggested, leaning forward and blowing another raspberry.

Dipper jumped at her words, looking startled that she was there, before shaking his head almost hard enough to throw his hat off. Going back to pacing set him off, it seemed, "No, noooo way am I doing that - with how weird those guys were, the thing's probably boobytrapped from here to Canada and back. Touching it's probably enough to kill me in twenty different ways. There's no way, without at least a couple things set around to-"

"Pew pewww!" 

Turning on his heel, he watched in utter horror as Mabel pranced around the store, aiming the gun in her loose grip like she was in a spy movie. Aiming somewhere over his head, she grinned. "Twenty paces, pardner! Draw on three!"

"MABEL!" Dipper screeched, running up to her and reaching for it - grimacing as she danced just out of reach, using her one millimetre to her advantage. "Mabel, please, that's really-I almost died 'cause of that!"

"Hey, people kill people, guns don't kill people - just like how Grunkle Stan says!" Mabel chirped as she ran ahead of him, ducking under the arm of a brass statue as she tittered. "Pewww, pew pewww!"

"Mabel, you-"

This was honestly the most attention he'd paid to her for probably days, she thought, and with that exact word her eyesight flashed chartreuse. Zombie party, birthday party, twelfth, planning for thirteenth, fourteenth, third, fourtieth-a single golden eye, several thousand golden eyes, a unicorn's shimmering hair, and suddenly she was on the ground.

There was a sizzling spot on the ceiling and the gun was out of her hands. Dipper's fingers were waving in front of her face, and for a moment she wondered why he was waving at her, before she registered his words.

"-okay?! You just, fell, how many fingers am I holding up, no, wait, now, sorry, I kind of, had them, all up, are you okay? Can you breathe? Did you hit your head, are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Mabel frowned, gingerly pulling her hands away from Dipper's to peer around - spotting the gun just beside her, she reached for it, before hesitating. "It-"

Plucking the gun and simply pushing it a little further away, Dipper frowned at her and held up his hand in front of her again. "Hey, hey, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Four," she blurted, looking away from his face. That was weird. Just fell down...?

That sent Dipper into a frenzy. "No, oh no, I had my whole hand open, you must have a concussion, are you bleeding?"

As he scuttled around behind her, she couldn't help but titter, even as he flopped her hair over the front of her face. Pushing it out of the way, Mabel cleared her throat. "Four plus a thumb."

"O-oh."

After a moment where he cleared his throat three, four times, her twin finally settled back down on the ground beside her.

Mabel stared at him for a moment, even as he fussed with the gun. "So it's not booby trapped."

Biting his lip, Dipper shook his head. "Don't know that. I mean, you DID kind of pass out right after you touched it. 'S why I'm staying on the ground. You know the number for nine one one, right?"

"I'm not-" Mabel grimaced, pulling her knees up to her chest. It was so benign, talking about this while there was a weird alien gun on the floor. Of course she knew the number for nine one one - and of course she was okay, and of course, and of course... but he was just trying to care. In his own way. Besides, they had more important things to do right now. "It was the, weird thing. The green remembery thing?"

Dipper stared for a moment, before nodding. "Oh, right, the..."

If the realization dawned hard on Dipper, it dawned harder on Mabel. She almost started to vibrate, and stood up, pulling her twin tightly by one arm all the way to the vending machine long before he even had a chance to react. "Dipper, Dipper, what do you remember about the code?!"

His hand was at the number pad before he made a sound - but hesitated the second he got to it. "It, uh..." Dipper frowned, pulling his hand slightly closer. "It's just..."

Mabel's grin dropped slowly as Dipper pulled his hand to his chest and cradled it. "What, what's wrong, bro?"

Shrugging, Dipper stared at the snacks inside for a moment, before giving her a half smile. "It's just that, what does it matter if we see what's down there? He's not going to be down there, 'cause the portal wasn't completed, and..."

Ohhh. Mabel grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly. "Well. Right now we have other mysteries, right?"

Dipper frowned, but squeezed back softly.

"Like! We're gonna' track that crazy old dude, pick apart this weird gunny thing, and once we remember that number we'll see what's happening downstairs-make sure we're not just goin' nuts, right?"

As much as the prior things perked Dipper up, the last objective deflated him instantly. "Mabel, what if Ford is... what if the portal's timer ran out, and... we can't...?"

Mabel raspberried dismissively, letting go of her twin's limp hand to throw an arm around his shoulder instead, leading him upstairs. "C'mON, Dipper, do you really think Stan would have been so okay with everything if his brother just COULDN'T come back?"

Neither of them mentioned the fact that he had grounded them so angrily, or disappeared in the middle of the night. At the most, Mabel decided, Dipper would be okay with fussing with the gun for a while - and she could focus on remembering. 

 

\----

 

No matter how late kids tried to stay up, eventually they would always fall asleep. Which is exactly what Stanley Pines had depended on, as he sat in his rickety vehicle, thankful that the Gravity Falls police were negligent at best.

The sloshing of chemicals - stolen, from one hell of a road trip - in the back seat kept him awake, along with the metric fuckton of coffee he'd drank on the way. Either way, the rising sun peeking between the trees was going to hurt his eyes soon, even through the mask he'd had to wear.

Emergencies were emergencies, and as much as he'd hated to risk it, as he lugged one barrel after the other into the shack at four in the morning, he couldn't help but feel it was definitely, definitely worth it.

Giving Soos and Wendy the day off was easy - one more than the other, as having to insist that Soos stay away from the shack was easier said than done. Telling him to take the kids out later for lunch was a stroke of genius, though - the guy would be preparing for hours, no way he'd come so early.

And one way or another, the twins were grounded. So whether or not they were awake, they wouldn't be coming out until Stan told them they could - and his stomping around would scare them off more than invite them down. He hoped, at least.

At this point, though, he could do little more than hope. Hope and hurry. Lugging the barrels to the shack was a race against time, and the sun, and for probably the first time ever Stan found himself grateful for the shack's falling popularity as of late.

The ride down to the lab was stressful, to say the least - there was no telling which way the time on the damned portal may have gone, with the way it was going recently.

Resisting the urge to remove his mask as he rolled each and every one of the barrels into his brother's lab, Stan grunted as he finally came to rest. Dropping into the chair, he avoided looking at the clock for a moment, merely inspecting the map of the horrid thing for a while. Finally, sighing deeply, he gave in and took a long look.

...Fourty one hours...?

Stan grunted, shoulders slumping. Alright. That sure was a time, that was before the previous one the clock had been at. It sure was ticking away quickly, though - though, of course, there was no way of telling how it would be going in an hour.

The portal was just as unpredictable. Completely calm one minute, screaming and whirling at speeds unseen before - Stan couldn't help but be terrified around it. Working on it had been fine before, if not a little weird to be doing - but lately it had been a crapshoot, a russian roulette of "when is it safe" and "when will it suck me in".

All because of that... horrible old man. And for once he wasn't thinking of himself OR his brother. The guy had rushed in after he'd finally gathered all of what he needed, stolen it right from between his fingers, and for some reason it had thrown the portal off so badly that his brother's instructions were next to useless.

At the very least it had given him more time - so far. But the unpredictability was horrible - so, not believing the time it was giving him right now, Stan pushed himself up tiredly.

"Time for some rocket science on no sleep, huh? ...Man, Ford, you better appreciate this."

 

\---

 

Waking up hovering in a hotel room was certainly not one of Morty's worst early morning experiences, but considering the fact that it was nine in the morning on a Saturday, like any teenaged boy he would much rather have been asleep until noon at the very least.

So when he stuttered out a desperate, "R-r-r-r-RICK, what's HAPPENING!" and didn't get a response, it was a little startling.

Falling back to the bed softly, Morty laid for a moment, contemplating going back to sleep. The place was kind of comfy, despite the rats that he heard in the walls - but, again, having been through worse, a two star hotel wasn't the worst thing imaginable.

Even so, the sounds of the town shuffling around and making a big deal out of the tiny blip in gravity outside was making it a little bit difficult. So, yawning heavily and wondering where his grandfather went, Morty slipped into his dayclothes and settled back down on the foot of the bed.

The TV didn't work - probably never did, honestly. He didn't have a phone, never had anyone to talk to - and there was no magazines or anything sitting around. Pulling his knees up to his chest, Morty wondered when he became so dependant on Rick for any source of amusement.

Feeling rather bitter about that, and still half dazed from how little sleep he'd gotten the night previous, Morty decided to go out wandering around the town.

It was a nice place, he supposed. The lady at the counter waved at him as he left, and so startled by such a little display of kindness, he ran neatly into the door before leaving.

It was a bit creepy, though. Everyone just kind of sat around and didn't really do anything - though, now that Morty thought about it, it was like that everywhere in the summer, especially small towns. Just kind of a jump from the usual super busy places he went most of the time.

Such a lazy summer day, people seemed to calm so quickly after the fuss from the hovering thing - in his own world everyone would probably be screaming days after. Morty couldn't decide whether that meant it happened a lot or was such an anomoly that no one cared - either way, it wouldn't matter too much longer.

Whenever he found Rick, or, you know, if he ended up finding Rick, he would ask why the place was falling apart. No way he could let this many people just be... written out of existence if he could help it. Even if some of them were kind of, scary.

Actually, now that Morty thought about it. He slowed to a stop on the sidewalk, rubbing his hands nervously as he peered around. Maybe he should have just asked the lady at the counter where Rick went.

After all, there was a man in this town who would probably kill them.

Swallowing thickly and trying to calm his fluttering heart, Morty dragged his feet forward as though they were made of cement. It was probably fine, it was a whole town - and there was no way the guy would attack him in public.

In fact, he was probably safer out here than alone in the hotel.

Yeah! That was probably true. No way that was wrong.

Either way, he had some allowance in his jeans pocket and that little diner over there looked nice - plus, he hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. Well... Rick would find him eventually.

Of course, there was no way that his luck wouldn't have happened the way it did.

Turning the corner and meeting eyes with the two kids that had basically beaten the tar out of him the night previous, one of them holding an outright laser gun in his grimy little paws, was certainly not something he'd been hoping for. Especially since they seemed to be accompanied by a guy probably three times as big as Morty - and even though the last didn't look very angry, the two brats sure as hell did.

The one in the hat looked at Morty, then down to the gun, then at his - twin? Jeez, creepy, - then back to Morty. And screamed out "GET HIM!" in such a loud tone that even his sister jumped.

As startling as it was for her, for Morty it was basically a death sentence wrapped in a panic attack - especially cause the guy aimed his gun directly at him.

"Oh, JEEZ, JEEZ, JEEZ," was the sound that came out of his face as he circled in place once, twice, slammed into a stop sign, and took off running at full speed.

If Morty was good at one thing, it was running - but as his feet thumped on the concrete, the two cretins kept on his heels, and if Morty wasn't having SOME sort of attack before, the sound of their little feet pattering along behind his own sounding just like the hounds of hell snapping at his ankles definitely instigated something.

Which is why when he ran directly into something soft and Hawaiian patterned, instead of apologizing, or picking himself up, or doing practically anything, Morty Smith went completely limp.

Fortunately, the man who he'd basically tackled with all of his tiny body weight plucked him up easily by one shoulder, laughing deeply even as the demons chasing him skittered to a stop. Held up like this, he felt more like he was bait for dogs than anything resembling saved.

"Oh, what have we here? What a fancy toy gun, Dipper Pines! Where'd you get such a fancy doodad like that?"

What an obnoxious southern drawl. Even as his heartbeat continued to almost make every word inaudible over its sheer volume, Morty blushed. Aw, man, what a rude thought - guy saved him and here he was, being mean to him in his mind. "That, uh, that's mine. The toy gun," he blurted, gesturing wildly.

The big man let him down gently, but Morty's legs still nearly gave out as he registered just how tall everyone around him was. Hoo boy. Rubbing his arms nervously, he sidled up slightly behind the big guy, staring at... what did he call him? Dipper Pines?

"Is that so, well, well, well, is that so?"

The girl twin continued to glare at Morty, who avoided eye contact as insistently as physically possible, but the boy - Dipper - seemed as fired up as he had been while running. "Yeah, it's his - and he shot at me with it!"

"Oh, slow down - goodness me, all this fuss over a toy gun? The poor boy looks like a rabbit what the dogs've been chasin fo' HOURS!" The man laughed heavily, seemingly not noticing the tone of the gathering at all. Rubbing Morty's hair with one huge, oversized hand, the big man laughed again. "Now, let's see here - what's ya name, boy?"

"Uh, M-Morty, my name's... Morty, uh..." As unwise as it seemed to be telling his name to strangers, he'd dropped a couple 'Rick's at the incident at the shack and had the favour returned by his grandfather, so that ball had already been dropped.

The man nodded. "A fine name for a fine young man! Now, seeing as how you're new in town, I'll clear this all up - would you be a doll and apologize to these two, wonderful young children, Morty? Dipper and Mabel Pines, if you would?"

Swallowing thickly, Morty looked around the guy's bulk to the twins and their bodyguard, who had just caught up, panting heavily.

"And Soos!"

"And Soos," added the wall.

"I'm, uh, real sorry about, shooting at you. I won't do it again." Hopefully. So very hopefully. Morty coughed, shrinking further. "Uh, Dipper, and, Mabel..."

"And Soos!"

"And Soos."

Dipper stared at him darkly, inhaled as though he was about to say something, then hesitated. Shaking his head, Dipper turned to the big guy, then his sister.

Sticking her tongue out at him, Mabel grinned (like a hyena, thought Morty), "We forgive you! See you later, Morty!"

And with nothing further, she dragged Dipper the way they'd come, Soos following along, waving at Morty and his guardian blithely.

As soon as they were out of view, the big guy sighed. "My goodness, kid, you sure know how to pick 'em, huh?"

"Yeah, I, uh, it was just, I don't know, a teenager thing, sorry about... that..." Morty blurted. Perhaps he was just trying to save face, but this guy still looked like he could break him in two. One way or another, he felt the need to defend himself from looking bad in front of him. "I was, just looking for my grandpa Rick, and then-"

"New in town AND lost your family already? Morty, my boy, you sure have the devil's luck, don't you! Listen, my name's Bud Gleeful - how'sabout I show you around town 'til we find your old grandpappy?"

 

\---

 

Being on the road again so quickly was absolutely not what Stan had planned. Instead of being blissfully asleep after all his hard work and chemical burns, here he was, sitting in his shitty car with the windows down trying to air it out and hoping that the local DIY place would have the absolutely unreasonable amounts of screws.

Nothing like the countdown not slowing whatsoever from its breakneck pace to significantly dampen his excitement at how close he was, plus, you know, sleep.

The bounce of a particularly bad pothole shook him from his focus, and pushing his glasses up his nose with one hand, Stan went back to grumbling quietly at his piece of junk to shut up and keep chugging.

"What kinda' car can't even lug several hundred pounds of nuclear material for hours without complainin like a-"

The breaks squealed at ear-bursting pitch as he slowly screeched to a stop next to his, well, still-grounded twins, plus Soos.

"SSOOOOOooooo."

"Listen, Grunkle Stan, I know it's earlier than you told him, but-"

"-We convinced him! Totally messed with the clock, tricked him outright!"

"Aw, c'mon, guys, you don't gotta' lie, Mister Pines'll understand-" Soos hushed them as best he could, but the little devils were near impossible to stop with their excuses once they got started. Bouncing off each other, basically, Stan had to hush down the pride in his heart at how good the lie they were managing was going. "-I just wanted to help you guys celebrate our victory over the, uh, the FBI. Never thought I'd say that."

Stan was hoping one day he'd say that, not that he wished they would all get into it. Either way, the fact of the matter was that he now had to exercise his powers as an elder or they'd never take him seriously. Or something.

Sighing even as Dipper and Mabel pouted at him through the window, Stan shook his head. "Get in the car, kids. I'm gonna' have to extend your, detention, or something. You can eat lunch at home."

Man, he sounded like some weird, awful stepfather. Or maybe his own father. The thought made him grimace. For a moment he considered taking them out himself before bringing them home, but the ever-ticking clock... The fact that he'd have to bring them back like this was already a setback.

Even as they sat in the back, sullen silence almost palpable, bitterly muttering something about Bud Gleeful under their breaths, Stan's mind was firmly set on what he was doing this for. His family could be back together again - and if he could bet on anything, it would be that his brother would probably forgive him once he brought him back.

Prrrrrobably.

 

\---

 

Having tea in a nice man's house while the guy talked about his used car business and how much Morty seemed like a wonderful young man was not a situation that really needed rescuing. As such, Morty couldn't help but feel terrible for the guy's house as Rick kicked the door in, shooting his stupid space laser at every painting visible and screaming at the top of his lungs.

"G-grandpa Rick, come on, please!"

"I'M SAVING YOU, MHHH-MORTY, BRRP-, THIS GUY WAS PROBABLY GOING TO KILL YOU AND EAT YOUR HEART FOR YOUTH."

"Rick, come-come on! We were having tea!"

Poor Bud Gleeful was - oh. Actually, Morty noted, sitting up nervously as Rick continued to search behind furniture, Bud was doing pretty well all considering. Sitting calmly in a corner, though not exactly looking happy about it.

Rick darted out the door at full speed, calling for Morty to follow him now that he'd confirmed the coast was clear. Watching him go, Morty trotted up bashfully to Bud, who looked rather relieved that the guy was leaving so quickly. "Uh, I'm really sorry about-about that, Mister Gleeful, uh, I'm sure I can make it up to you, somehow, but, right now, I kinda' gotta babysit my Grandpa Rick, uh, bye...?"

"You go ahead, Morty, I think, oh yes I think I should have to introduce you to my son one day soon. You should drop by with your grandpa! If he's, uh, doing better, I should say."

"Okay, can do! See you later! B-bye!"

Awkward, awkward, awkward. Nothing like the feeling of watching people clean up after Rick's weird rampages to really throw Morty off.

Then again. This part was apparently falling apart, so... Morty grimaced as he hurried after his grandpa. This was promising to be a long day.

**Author's Note:**

> hey :j him long. him gonna be longer


End file.
